


Out of Context

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [73]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Author!Chris, Celebrity Crush, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 17:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15175472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: He flung open the door and sure enough, there in the downpour, stood a very wet, very grateful Chris Evans, author of Seb's favorite novel and object of his most persistent celebrity crush.





	Out of Context

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Bookstore and Celebrity/Fan. Prompts from this [generator.](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator)

 

“You know,” a voice said from behind the back door, “I’d like to say this is the most embarrassing thing that’s happened today, but I’d be lying.”

Seb frowned, leaned in towards the sound. That voice sounded awful familiar. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, “but we’re still closed.”

“I know, I know you are, man. But I was in earlier, for the, uh, the signing thing, and I left my wallet in there. I think it might’ve fallen behind my chair. Or maybe I left it in the restroom? Not totally sure. I get a little loopy at these things sometimes, you know? Too much attention like zeroed in on me. Makes me jumpy as fuck.”

Too much--? Seb’s brain reached for his latte, summoned the last strands of caffeine to work--

Wait a second. _I was in here earlier. Too much attention on me_. No. Could it really be...?

\--and the answer it came up with had his face the color of ketchup, his hands shooting out for the lock. He flung open the door and sure enough, there in the downpour, stood a very wet, very grateful Chris Evans, author of Seb's favorite novel and object of his most persistent celebrity crush.

“Hey man,” Chris said, “thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

Seb might’ve been staring. He was staring. Yeah, he definitely was. The blue eyes alone, bright under the streetlight; never mind that fucking beard. Christ. And god, if Evans had been hot before in his tweedy jacket and jeans, now, down to a white t-shirt and soaked denim, he looked like he’d sauntered out of Seb’s best of all possible dreams. There was a reason he hadn't wanted to work the event today; a reason he'd scheduled himself for the closing and restocking shift: you shouldn't meet your idols, that's what people always said, because the image of them you've built in your head never matches up with reality. And he liked crushing on Evans, didn't want anything to disrupt that; ok, was fucking terrified of being in the same room with him, of even being asked to hand the man a Sharpie because not only was he beautiful, he wrote like an angry, sexed-up god with a penchant for unexpected metaphors and damn if his words didn't have the ability to make Seb weep--and to pick up his own pen again. Kind of a lot to dump on one person, especially one he didn't actually know. So Seb had stayed away. But now here Evans was, in the perfect, dripping wet flesh.

“Um," Chris said, "hi. Can I come in? Probably easier to find my wallet from in there than out here."

Seb startled. “What? Yeah! I mean, yeah.” He stepped out of the doorway, make room for Evans to slide by.

“Shit,” Chris said as Seb shut the rain out, “I’m a mess.” He looked down at himself, at the small ocean forming at his feet, and then at Sebastian, sheepish. “I’m gonna make a huge mess on you all’s beautiful floors. Do you have a towel back here or something?”

“Do we, uh”--Seb ran a hand through his hair, not staring, not--“no? I don’t think so, but we, ah, oh! There are some bedsheets, I think, that we used at Halloween.”

“Sweet. That’ll work.”

“But you’ll need to, um--can you move this way a little? I need to get at that shelf.”

Evans grinned and held up his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry.”

They turned in a damp sort of dosido. “You don’t have to be. This place is a mess.”

“Really? Doesn’t look like one. It’s a small space, that’s all. Crowded. Looks like you know where everything is.”

Seb flushed and stepped onto the footstool, stuck his head up over the shelves. “Most of the time.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“On and off since high school. So, like, seven years?”

“Wow.”

“That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do you mean?”

He shoved his hands into a crate, searching blindly for the soft scratch of the sheets. “They usually say, _when are you gonna get a real job?_ ”

Chris sounded surprised. “This is a real job.”

“Right? That’s what I tell them.”

“Do you like it, working here? I mean, you must, if you’ve been here this long.”

Seb was too distracted, too off balance to say anything but the truth. “I get to be around words all day. Of course I do. Ah! Got ‘em.”

He yanked the sheets from their box--one inexplicably marked _To File_ \--and stepped down, or tried to, because in his haste, in the heat of all the wonderful weird, he missed a step, stumbled, and fell.

Or he would have, if Chris hadn’t caught him, strong arms suddenly, perfectly, right there to break his fall.

“Hey, whoa,” Evans said, warm and worried, “slow down, man. I’m not worth a broken leg, trust me.”

It was like being half-hugged by a hurricane, a big, broad storm slowly soaking him to the bone, one seemingly reluctant to let him go.

“I’m fine now,” Seb said. “You can put me down. You’re getting the sheets all wet.”

Evans laughed, this long, delighted wave, and set Seb on his feet. “I won’t quote you on that out of context,” he said. “I swear.”


End file.
